,,  'I'i  |;x  .’ 


— I I J I j ^ r»i  I j * 1 * **  ,1  j J*j 

;''-®i  YiMitii'i' 'ws'i'!'''''' * 1''^ ','  "'  '",  ' 

Sf’iwisI'  i,',.,  •’  .,s”'  “ ' ; , . ' ' '■' ' 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  ILLINOIS 


LIBRARY 

611 


-01 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST 


Songs  from  the  Nest 


BY 

EMILY  HUNTINGTON  MILLER 


AUTHOR  OF 

''For  the  BelovecF' 
" The  Little  Maid'" 


CHICAGO 

KINDERGARTEN  LITERATURE  CO. 

1894 


Printed  and  Bound  by 
The  Pestalozzi- Froebel  Press,  Chicago 


•iO  .7^ 


r \ ^ 


lit  U&l,ii{R 
6TM 

ilNIYBSin  tut  illNiM 


^otftcrltood. 


Sweet  Mary  ! Mother  of  my  Lord! 

Through  the  faint  light  thy  fictured  face^ 
Touched  with  the  glory  and  the  grace 

Born  of  the  Angelas  wondrous  word, 

Draws  my  eyes  upward  to  its  place. 

What  dost  thou  drea7ii,  O woman  dear. 

So  late  a child  whose  careless  feet 
Found  the  green  Paths  of  girlhood  sweet. 

Nor  guessed  what  rapture,  drawing  near. 
Would  fold  thy  heart  in  bliss  complete? 

They  ponder  much,  these  77iother  souls 
That  clasp  their  secret  close,  nor  tell 
The  stra7ige,  extdtmg  thoughts  that  swell, 

A soundless  tide,  whose  fullness  rolls 
To  shores  where  blessed  visions  dwell. 

A7id  smce  that  hour  whe7i  first  for  thee 
The  hope  of  all  the  ages  S77tiled, 

And  love  a7id  loss  were  reco7tciled. 

No  77iother'’s  heart  but  thrills  to  see 
A world'' s redee77ier  i/t  her  child. 

Sweet  Mary,  if  S07iie  glisteni7ig  whig 

Showed  through  the  dark7iess,  d/771  and  pale. 
And  a7tgel  voices  cried,  '’"All  hail ! 

Lo,  the  swift  days  to  thee  shall  bri/ig, 

Brim77ted  with  love'^s  w'lne,  life''s  holy  grail 

/ thi7ik  I should  but  lift  77iine  eyes. 

And  see  again  thy  radia7tt  face 
Shhze,  still  and  tender,  from  its  place. 

And,  grown  like  thee,  serene  and  wise. 

Should  thank  my  Lord  for  that  dear  grace. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Motherhood Frontispiece 

Asleej? . 21 

Auttimn 76 

A Birthday  Rhyme 78 

A Child'’ s Fancy 41 

A Laugh  in  Church 73 

A-Maying 49 

A Morning  Song 56 

April  Fools 46 

At  the  Window ' 26 

A Valentine 27 

A Winter  Rose ii 

Baby  Arithmetic 24 

Baby^s  Christening 19 

Baby^s  World. 18 

Chicks 60 

Content 75 

Counting  the  Baby's  Toes .• 22 

Cradle-so7tg 14 

Cradle  Time 28 

Dame  Dimple 59 

Hang  Up  the  Baby's  Stocking 36 

Her  Picture  16 

Her  World* 84 

lit  the  Garret 61 

htto  Dreamlan,d 33 

June 51 

Light  Heart 50 

Little  Bare  Feet  in  the  Snow 64 

Little  Kitow-nothing 12 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

March  Winds 44 

Motherhood 4 

My  A It  gel 81 

My  Good-for-nothing 32 

My  Laddie 39 

My  Queen 43 

Mysteries 38 

Out  ojf  the  Nest 20 

Somewhere 15 

Sweetheart' s Stories 71 

The  Bluebird 48 

The  Children' s Prayers 62 

The  Empty  Nest 30 

The  First  Tooth 13 

The  Old  and  the  New 68^ 

The  Robin's  Vesper 54 

The  Runaway  Princess 65 

The  Song  of  the  Crickets 55 

The  Swallows '52 

The  True  Princess 57 

Twilight  Fancies 34 

Two  Years  Old 42 


in  HUemorij 

OF 

“All  the  birdies  have  flown  away; 

But  birds  must  fly,  or  they  wouldn’t  have 
wings; 

And  the  mother  knew  they  would  go  some 
day, 

When  she  used  to  cuddle  the  downy 
things.” 


-- -':V' 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


^ l^inter  Hose* 

When  the  meadows  were  chill  and  white, 
Lily-buds  heaped  with  the  drifting  snows, 

Rough  winds  shaking  the  world  at  night. 
Blossomed  our  fair  little  winter  rose; 

Soft  and  pink,  from  her  tender  feet 

To  her  downy  head  and  her  dimpled  chin 

To  her  velvet  hands  and  her  mouth  so  sweet. 
Shutting  some  blissful  secret  in. 

We  wrapped  her  in  fleecy  robes  that  clung, 
Fold  upon  fold,  as  the  roses  rest; 

And  the  dearest  singer  that  ever  sung, 
Whispered  a lullaby  over  her  nest. 

We  drew  the  curtains  to  hide  away 

The  chilly  world,  with  its  cruel  snow; 

And  there,  in  a bower  as  bright  as  May, 

Our  dainty  blossom  began  to  grow. 


12 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


BCittlc  ilCnotti-'notlting^ 


Listen,  my  baby!  nobody’s  near, 

Only  the  kittens  small; 

I’ll  whisper  something  close  in  your  ear. 
You  never  must  tell  at  all. 

Two  white  kittens,  with  ball  and  string. 
Race  and  tumble  and  play; 

Isn’t  it  strange  — you  queer  little  thing  — 
That  you  should  know  less  than  they? 

You  will  not  open  your  velvet  fist. 

Closed  tight  in  a tiny  ball; 

You  scowl  when  your  soft  pink  mouth 
kissed. 

And  never  kiss  back  at  all. 

Your  eyes,  with  their  lovely,  misty  blue. 
Wander  and  wonder  — oh,  see! 

The  baby  listens  as  if  she  knew! 

The  baby  is  smiling  to  me! 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


13 


ITfte  3rirst  ^ootlt* 

Come,  look  at  the  dainty  darling! 

As  fresh  as  a new-blown  rose, 

From  the  top  of  his  head  so  golden. 

To  the  dear  little  restless  toes. 

You  can  tell  by  the  dancing  dimples. 

By  the  smiles  that  come  and  go. 

He  is  keeping  a wonderful  secret 

You  would  give  half  your  kingdom  to 
know. 

Now  kiss  him  on  cheek  and  forehead. 

And  kiss  him  on  lip  and  chin; 

The  little  red  mouth  is  hiding 
The  rarest  of  pearls  within. 

Ah,  see!  when  the  lips  in  smiling 
Have  parted  their  tender  red. 

Do  you  see  the  tiny  white  jewel. 

Set  deep  in  its  coral  bed? 

Now  where  are  the  sage  reporters 
Who  wait  by  hamlet  and  hill. 

To  tell  to  the  listening  nation 
The  news  of  its  good  or  ill? 

Come,  weave  with  your  idle  gossip 
This  golden  blossom  of  truth  — 

Just  half  a year  old  this  morning, 

And  one  little  pearly  tooth! 


14 


SOA^GS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Baby,  sleep!  the  summer  breezes 
Rock  the  young  bird  in  the  tree; 

Mother’s  breast  shall  be  thy  pillow, 

Mother’s  arms  have  cradled  thee! 

Down  the  rosy  vales  of  slumber, 

Soft  and  low  the  dream-bells  ring; 

Follow  where  their  voices  call  thee, 
While  my  cradle-song  1 sing. 

Baby,  sleep!  the  rose  has  folded 
Half  her  sweetness  from  the  night; 

Sleep,  and  when  the  rose  is  fairest. 

Thou  shalt  wake  to  new  delight. 

Sweeter,  clearer,  softer,  nearer, 

I can  hear  the  dream-bells  ring; 

Follow  where  their  voices  call  thee. 
While  my  cradle-song  I sing. 

Baby,  sleep!  for  brighter  visions 
Than  thy  mother’s  eyes  can  see, 

Angel  hands  are  swiftly  bringing 
From  the  silent  land  to  thee. 

Down  the  rosy  vales  of  slumber. 

Fairy  chimes  the  dream-bells  ring; 

Baby,  sleep;  and  sleeping  listen, 
While  my  cradle-song  1 sing. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


15 


Brave  little  messenger,  blue  as  the  sky, 
Swinging  and  caroling  up  in  the  tree. 

Out  of  what  happier  land  did  you  fly. 

The  spring’s  glad  greeting  to  bring  to  me? 
Blithe  little  heart,  let  us  sing  together; 
Somewhere,  always,  is  summer  weather. 

Somewhere,  under  the  morning  skies. 

Buds  and  blossoms  make  haste  to  grow; 
Roses  blushing  in  crimson  dyes. 

Fair  white  lilies  with  hearts  of  snow. 

Blithe  little  heart,  let  us  sing  together; 
Somewhere,  always,  is  summer  weather. 

Somewhere,  under  the  sedges  green. 

Birds  are  brooding  their  callow  young; 
Dearer  nestlings  were  never  seen. 

Gladder  carols  were  never  sung. 

Blithe  little  heart,  let  us  sing  together; 
Somewhere,  always,  is  summer  weather. 

Hasten,  snow  of  the  apple  trees; 

Hasten,  violets  white  and  blue; 

Hasten,  breath  of  the  balmy  breeze; 

Here  is  a blossom  that  waits  for  you! 

Blithe  little  heart,  let  us  sing  together; 
Somewhere,  always,  is  summer  weather. 


i6 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Mitv  picture* 

That’s  my  baby:  just  that  way 
Curls  the  soft  hair  on  her  brow; 

I can  feel  its  silken  touch 

Thrilling  through  my  fingers  now. 

Strangers,  though,  must  need  be  told 
How  the  ripples  shine  like  gold. 

That’s  her  cheek  — its  very  curve; 

Can  you  guess  its  rose-leaf  glow? 

And  the  dimple’s  merry  play 

As  the  quick  smiles  come  and  go? 

And  her  laughter,  low  and  clear. 

Like  a bird’s  note  thrilling  near? 

That’s  her  mouth;  but  one  should  know 
How  her  breath  comes  warm  and  sweety 

And  the  little  cooing  sounds 
That  her  soft,  red  lips  repeat. 

And  the  ecstasy  of  bliss 
In  her  light,  uncertain  kiss. 

One  should  watch  when  slumber  steals 
O’er  those  wondrous  deeps  of  blue; 

One  should  see  how  morning  brings 
Life’s  great  miracle  anew, — 

Just  as  if  her  dreaming  eyes 
Looked  but  now  on  Paradise. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


17 


Ah,  my  loving,  human  soul, 

Fluttering  near  me,  soaring  far! 
Sweet  elusive,  changeful  thing. 

Who  can  paint  you  as  you  are? 
Only  love,  whose  matchless  art 
Paints  you  hourly  on  her  heart! 


i8 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST 


Oh,  what  can  we  do  for  the  baby, 

To  make  her  a birthday  rare? 

She  came  in  the  wintry  weather. 

When  all  the  orchards  were  bare. 

m 

There  is  not  a leaf  in  the  garden. 

And  never  a bird  will  sing. 

And  all  in  a row,  from  the  branches. 

The  sharp  little  icicles  swing. 

Oh,  nothing  at  all  cares  baby! 

Her  world  is  as  warm  as  a nest; 

And  the  song  that  her  mother  sings  her 
Is  the  music  she  loves  best. 

She  laughs  to  hear  at  the  casement 
The  bleak  winds  bluster  and  blow. 

And  the  sharp  little  icicles  swing  and  ring 
Like  crystal  bells  in  a row. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


19 


Sweetheart,  thou  hast  no  name, 

Only  such  tender  words  as  love  can  frame; 
Christened  anew  with  kisses  every  hour, — 
Our  pearl!  our  dove!  our  flower! 

So  we  have  come  today, 

A name  in  blessing  on  thy  brow  to  lay. 
Wreathing  the  font  with  buds  of  palest  dyes. 
And  violets,  like  thine  eyes. 

Oh,  child,  we  cannot  see 

All  that  the  coming  years  may  bring  to  thee; 

If  on  thy  path  the  dews  drop  cool  and  sweet. 
Or  thorns  shall  bruise  thy  feet. 

And  if  our  love  could  choose 
Life’s  sweetest  gifts,  and  all  its  ill  refuse. 
Perchance  the  treasures  we  should  deem  the 
best 

Would  fill  thee  with  unrest. 

So  we  who  love  thee,  dear. 

Lift  empty  hands  to  One  who  waiteth  near. 
Saying,  “In  life  or  death.  Thy  will  be  done; 
Bless  Thou  the  little  one!” 


20 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


^Ut  ol  the  Host* 

Out  on  the  porch,  by  the  open  door, 

Sweet  with  roses  and  cool  with  shade 

Baby  is  creeping  over  the  floor — 

Dear  little  winsome  blue-eyed  maid! 

All  about  her  the  shadows  dance, 

All  above  her  the  roses  swing; 

Sunbeams  in  at  the  lattice  glance, 

Robins  up  in  the  branches  sing. 

Up  at  the  blossoms  her  fingers  reach, 
Pleading  sweeter  than  any  words; 

Cooing  away,  in  her  baby  speech, 

Sounds  like  the  twit.ter  of  nestling  birds. 

Creeping,  creeping  over  the  floor. 

Soon  my  birdie  will  find  her  wings. 

Fluttering  out  at  the  open  door. 

Into  the  wonderful  world  of  things: 

Bloom  of  roses  and  balm  of  dew. 

Brooks  that  babble  and  birds  that  call, 

All  things  lovely  and  glad  and  new. 

And  the  Father  watching  us  over  it  all! 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


21 


Asleep. 

Hush!  in  tender  dreams  he  lies, 
All  the  world  forgetting; 

Slumber  veileth  from  his  eyes 
Longing  and  regretting! 

Idle  hands  above  his  breast 
Reach  no  more  for  pleasures; 

Light  as  drifted  blooms  they  rest 
Emptied  of  their  treasures. 

Soft  he  sleeps!  no  longer  mine, 
Though  1 watch  beside  him; 

In  his  slumbers,  half  divine. 
Holy  angels  guide  him. 

Baby,  while  the  shadows  creep, 
Slumber  on  thy  pillow. 

Like  a lily  rocked  to  sleep 
On  the  swaying  billow. 

When  the  rosy  morning  gleams. 
From  thy  visions  breaking. 

Leave  the  happy  land  of  dreams, 
Mine  again  in  waking. 


22 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Counting  ff|c  Coes* 

Dear  little  bare  feet, 

Dimpled  and  white, 

In  your  long  nightgown 
Wrapped  for  the  night. 

Come,  let  me  count  all 
Your  queer  little  toes. 

Pink  as  the  heart  of 
A shell,  or  a rose. 

07te  is  a lady 

That  sits  in  the  sun. 
Two  is  a baby. 

And  three  is  a nun; 
Four  is  a lily 

With  innocent  breast, 
And  five  is  a birdie 
Asleep  on  her  nest. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


23 


Soft  little  feet!  all 

Your  dimples  I know. 

Over  and  over 

I’ve  counted  them  so; 

Baby,  my  darling, 

If  mother  could  choose. 

Nothing  should  ever 

Their  tenderness  bruise. 

Six  is  a horseman 
A-riding  with  speed. 
Seven  is  his  footman. 

And  eight  is  his  steed; 
Nine  is  the  mother 
So  graceful  and  tall. 
And  ten  is  her  wee  one. 
The  darling  of  all. 

Over  your  eyes  drop 
The  curtains  so  white; 

Dear  little  bare  feet. 

Rest  till  the  light! 


24 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Babu  ^ritfxmetic. 

Rosebud,  dainty  and  fair  to  see, 

Fiower  of  the  whole  round  world  to  me. 
Come  this  way  on  your  dancing  feet; 

Say,  how  much  do  you  love  me.  Sweet? 

Red  little  mouth  drawn  gravely  down. 
White  brow  wearing  a puzzled  frown. 
Wise  little  baby  Rose  is  she. 

Trying  to  measure  her  love  for  me. 

“I  love  you  all  the  day  and  the  night. 

All  the  dark  and  the  sunshine  bright. 

All  the  candy  in  every  store. 

All  my  dollars,  and  more  and  more. 

“ 1 love  you  farther  than  birdies  go. 

And  faster  than  ever  the  wind  can  blow; 
Over  the  tops  of  the  mountains  high. 

All  round  the  world  — way  up  to  the  sky^ 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


25 


Softly  down  the  happy  valley 

Fades  the  lingering  summer  day; 

On  the  hills  its  latest  blushes 
Die  in  rosy  gleams  away. 

Bird  and  bee  and  blossom  bright 
Whisper  low  a sweet  good-night! 

Swallows  to  the  steeples  flying, 

Sweep  with  silent  wing  along, 

And  the  bees  are  trooping  homeward 
• With  a dull  and  drowsy  song. 

Bird  and  bee  and  blossom  bright 
Whisper  low  a sweet  good-night! 

Starry  eyes!  above  your  brightness 
I can  see  the  shadows  creep; 

Tender  brow!  across  your  whiteness 
Falls  the  dusky  wing  of  sleep. 

Bird  and  bee  and  blossom  bright 
Whisper  low  a sweet  good-nightl 


26 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Floating  through  the  twilight, 
Dropping  softly  down, 

Fall  the  fleecy  snowflakes 
On  the  meadows  brown. 

Birdie  at  the  window. 

Looks  with  laughing  eyes. 

Full  of  baby  wonder. 

Full  of  strange  surprise. 

Only  one  sweet  summer 
Birdie  has  been  here; 

Did  you  know  that  winter 
Kills  the  roses,  dear? 

Darling  little  Birdie! 

Nothing  can  she  know 

Of  the  summer  glories 
Flidden  by  the  snow. 

Still  the  heaven  she  came  from 
Smiles  upon  her  dreams. 

With  its  fadeless  blossoms 
And  its  cloudless  gleams. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


27 


^ Valentine* 

Here’s  to  my  little  maid 
Whom  I love  well; 

All  her  sweet,  winsome  ways 
I cannot  tell; 

New  graces  she  puts  on 
Each  day  and  hour; 

She  grows  within  my  heart  — 
My  precious  flower! 

Here’s  to  my  little  maid 
Who  loves  me  well; 

All  my  fond  thoughts  for  her 
No  tongue  can  tell. 

1 am  her  sweetheart  true, 

And  she  is  mine; 

She  is  the  girl  I choose 
My  Valentine. 


28 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


Cradle  Cime^ 

Come  hither,  my  baby,  my  darling. 

My  lily,  my  wonderful  rose! 

The  white-bosomed  flowers  in  the  garden 
Begin  their  soft  petals  to  close. 

The  bees  have  gone  home  from  the  clover. 
The  swallows  are  under  the  eaves. 

The  whip-poor-will  calls  from  the  orchard. 
Safe  hid  in  the  dusk  of  the  leaves.  ^ 

Come,  baby,  my  beauty,  my  darling; 

Your  eyes  they  are  heavy  with  sleep; 

Your  little  red  mouth  has  grown  silent. 

And  scarcely  its  laughter  can  keep. 

Lay  off  the  white  robe  from  your  shoulders. 
Unclasp  the  small  shoes  from  your  feet; 

O daintiest  blossom  of  Eden, 

1 kiss  you,  my  lily,  my  sweet. 

Do  you  feel  the  cool  wind  coming  softly, 
And  see  the  young  moon  in  the  sky? 

The  clouds  sailing  over  the  sunset. 

The  bats  flitting  silently  by? 

Do  you  hear  how  the  cattle  are  lowing 
Along  the  green  lane  by  the  hill  ? 

And  the  brook  running  over  the  pebbles  . 
With  music  that  never  is  still? 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


29 


Now  hush!  while  I sing  to  you,  baby, 

A song  of  the  angels  above. 

That  come  on  invisible  pinions 

To  watch  o’er  the  children  they  love. 

So  all  through  your  beautiful  dreaming 
The  voice  of  your  mother  shall  creep. 
Lest,  hearing  the  harpings  celestial, 

Your  soul  should  fly  homeward  in  sleep. 


30 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST.  « 


3Emptg 


A home  in  a quiet  country  place, 

Under  the  shadow  of  branches  wide; 

And  a fair  young  mother  with  thoughtful  face, 
Sewing  a seam  by  the  window  side. 

The  sunshine  stretches  across  the  floor,  . 

The  bright  motes  dance  in  its  golden  way, 

And  in  and  out,  at  the  open  door. 

The  children  run  in  their  busy  play. 

Guiding  her  needle  with  careless  skill. 

Her  fingers  fashion  the  garment  white; 

But  weaving  a fabric  daintier  still. 

Her  swift  thoughts  follow  the  needle’s 
flight. 

Her  heart  lies  hushed  in  her  deep  content. 
Her  lips  are  humming  an  old  love  lay; 

And  still,  with  its  music  softly  blent. 

She  hears  what  the  eager  children  say: 

“We  found  it  under  the  apple  tree, — 

A poor  little  empty  yellowbird’s  nest; 

See,  it  is  round  as  a cup  could  be. 

And  lined  with  down  from  the  mother’s 
breast. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


31 


“This  is  a leaf,  all  withered  and  dry, 

That  once  was  a canopy  overhead; 

Doesn’t  it  almost  make  you  cry 

To  look  at  the  dear  little  empty  bed? 

“All  the  birdies  have  flown  away; 

But  birds  must  fly,  or  they  wouldn’t  have 
wings; 

And  the  mother  knew  they  would  go  some 
day, 

When  she  used  to  cuddle  the  downy 
things. 

“Do  you  think  she  is  lonesome?  Why, 
there’s  a tear! 

And  here  is  another  — that  makes  two. 

Why  do  you  hug  us,  and  look  so  queer? 

If  we  were  birdies  we  wouldn’t  leave 

Deep  in  the  mother’s  listening  heart 
Drops  the  prattle  with  sudden  sting; 

For  lips  may  quiver,  and  tears  may  start. 

But  birds  jnust  fly,  or  they  wouldn't  have 
wings. 


32 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


3ni|  (Sood^for-notl^ing, 


What  are  you  good  for,  my  brave  little  man  ? 
Answer  that  question  for  me  if  you  cano 
You,  with  your  ringlets  as  bright  as  the  sun. 
You,  with  your  fingers  as  white  as  a nun. 

All  the  day  long,  with  your  busy  contriving, 
Into  all  mischief  and  fun  you  are  driving; 

See  if  your  wise  little  noddle  can  tell 
What  you  are  good  for;  now  ponder  it  well. 

Over  the  carpet  the  dear  little  feet 
Came  with  a patter,  to  climb  on  my  seat. 
Two  merry  eyes,  full  of  frolic  and  glee, 

Under  their  lashes  looked  up  unto  me; 

Two  dimpled  hands,  pressing  soft  on  my  face, 
Drew  me  down  close  in  a loving  embrace; 
Two  rosy  lips  gave  the  answer  so  true; 
“Good  to  love  you,  mamma,  good  to  love 
you.” 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


33 


3!nto 

In  dusky  shadows,  cold  and  gray, 

Dies  slowly  out  the  dreary  day; 

And  faintly  shining  through  the  room, 

The  firelight  scatters  all  the  gloom. 

Upon  the  rug  before  the  grate. 

With  glowing  cheeks  the  children  wait, 
And  stretch  their  rosy,  dimpled  feet 
To  feel  the  embers’  steady  heat. 

O happy  hearts,  whose  thought  portrays 
Such  wondrous  pictures  in  the  blaze! 

A fairy  land,  whose  gleaming  sod 
No  mortal  foot  has  ever  trod. 

In  the  soft  hush  of  radiant  dreams 
Your  feet  may  find  those  singing  streams. 
Those  skies  with  sunshine  always  bright — 
Dear,  dreaming  eyes!  a sweet  good-night. 


34 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


Little  one,  here  in  the  twilight, 

Nestled  against  my  heart, 

With  wondering  eyes  uplifted, 

And  questioning  lips  apart, 

Surely  a sweeter  wisdom 

Than  old  philosophers  teach 
Lies  in  the  childish  fancies 

Dropped  from  your  silver  speech! 

“I  see  a beautiful  angel 

With  wings  and  a shining  dress; 

He’s  flying  away  from  the  sundown 
To  light  up  the  stars,  I guess. 

The  robin  up  in  the  tree  top 
Is  trying  to  sing  his  prayer; 

If  I should  sing  ‘Now  I lay  me’ 

Do  you  think  that  the  Lord  would  care? 

“If  I were  away  up  yonder. 

Close  by  that  twinkling  star, 

Do  you  think  you  could  see  me,  mamma, 
And  I could  see  you,  so  far? 

If  no  one  has  been  to  heaven, 

I don’t  see  how  they  can  tell; 

But  little  girls  might  get  lonesome 
Who  don’t  know  God  very  well. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


35 


“Just see  how  the  stars  are  winking, 
And  the  moon  is  nodding  her  head; 
At  night,  when  there’s  nobody  looking. 
Does  she  creep  in  a cloud  to  bed? 
Now  sing  me  about  the  mother 
Shaking  the  dreamland  tree; 

I’ll  open  my  eyes  and  tell  you 
If  a little  dream  falls  for  me.” 


36 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


'Sip  the  Slockitts* 

Hang  up  the  baby’s  stocking; 

Be  sure  that  you  don’t  forget; 

The  dear  little  dimpled  darling! 

She  never  saw  Christmas  yet. 

But  I’ve  told  her  all  about  it; 

And  she  opened  her  big  blue  eyes, 

And  I’m  sure  that  she  understood  me, 

She  looked  so  funny  and  wise. 

Dear,  dear!  what  a tiny  stocking! 

It  doesn’t  take  much  to  hold 
Such  little  pink  toes  as  baby’s 
Away  from  the  frost  and  cold; 

But  then,  for  the  baby’s  Christmas 
It  never  would  do  at  all. 

Why,  Santa  Claus  wouldn’t  be  looking 
For  anything  half  so  small. 

I know  what  we’ll  do  for  the  baby; 

I’ve  thought  of  the  very  best  plan: 

I’ll  borrow  a stocking  of  grandma, — 

The  longest  that  ever  I can, — 

And  you’ll  hang  it  by  mine,  dear  mamma, 
Right  here  in  the  corner  — so; 

And  write  a letter  to  Santa 
And  fasten  it  onto  the  toe. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


37 


Write,  '^This  is  the  baby  s stocking, 
That  hangs  in  the  cor7ier  here  ; 

You  never  have  seen  her,  Santa, 

For  she  07ily  ca7ne  this  year  ; 

But  she's  just  the  darlingest  baby  / 

A7id  now,  before  you  go, 

Just  cra77i  her  stocking  with  goodies, 
Fro7H  the  top  clear  down  to  the  toed 


38 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Where  are  you  going,  dear  little  feet? 

Restless,  pattering  things! 

Bearing  your  burden  soft  and  sweet. 

Swift  as  the  swallow’s  wings. 

What  are  you  doing,  dear  little  hands? 

Busy  from  morn  till  night; 

Building  your  castles  on  the  sands. 
Gathering  blossoms  bright. 

What  are  you  saying,  dear  little  tongue? 

Chattering  all  day  long; 

Words  that  the  wild  birds  teach  their  young, 
Sweeter  than  speech  or  song. 

What  are  you  seeking,  questioning  eyes? 

Gazing  away  to  the  west; 

Watching  the  rosy  sunset  skies. 

When  day  is  sinking  to  rest. 

Ah,  little  pilgrim,  tender  and  true, 

Wonderful  quest  is  yours! 

Life  must  be  sweet  when  life  is  new, 

Long  as  the  world  endures.  . 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


39 


mu  aCaddic, 

My  bonny,  yellow-haired  laddie 
Is  sailing  his  boats  by  the  shore; 
And  never  such  wonderful  cargoes 
Went  over  the  water  before. 

And  always  the  sun  is  shining, 

And  always  the  tide  it  flows, 

To  bear  them  away  from  the  harbor, 

To  a land  that  my  sailor  knows. 

My  laddie!  my  bonny  laddie! 

There’s  a ship  coming  over  the  sea, 
Her  sails  in  the  light  wind  shifting. 

To  bear  you  away  from  me  — 

Away  from  the  quiet  harbor. 

Where  soft  waves  ripple  and  swell; 
And  what  may  lie  on  her  outward  track 
There  is  not  a chart  to  tell. 

My  laddie!  my  own  dear  laddie! 

My  heart  is  heavy  today 
To  think  of  the  wide,  wide  waters, 

And  the  ships  that  have  gone  astray. 


40 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST 


For  how  shall  1 smile  at  morning, 

Or  how  shall  I sleep  at  night, 

And  miss  the  sound  of  your  laughter. 

The  glint  of  your  locks  so  bright? 

But  if,  from  a stormy  voyage. 

Broken  with  wind  and  wrack. 

To  the  port  she  left  with  the  flowing  tide, 
Your  ship  beats  wearily  back; 

Though  her  decks  are  swept  by  tempests, 
And  her  sails  hang  rent  above. 

She  will  bear  one  treasure  safely,— 

The  wealth  of  a mother’s  love. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


41 


^ CltUd's  3Fancij» 


Rosebud  lay  in  her  trundle-bed, 

With  her  small  hands  folded  above  her  head, 
And  fixed  her  innocent  eyes  on  me. 

While  a thoughtful  shadow  came  over  their 
glee. 

“Mamma,”  she  said,  “when  I go  to  sleep, 

I pray  to  the  Father  my  soul  to  keep; 

And  He  comes  and  carries  it  far  away. 

To  the  beautiful  home  where  His  angels  stay. 

“I  gather  red  roses,  and  lilies  white; 

I sing  with  the  angels  through  all  the  night; 
And  when,  in  the  morning,  I wake  from  my 
sleep. 

He  gives  back  the  soul  that  I gave  Him  to 
keep; 

And  I only  remember,  like  beautiful  dreams. 
The  garlands  of  lilies,  the  wonderful  streams.” 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


li'uto  ^cars 


One — two  — my  little  maiden 
Sitting  in  the  sun, 

With  your  blue  eyes  full  of  wonder, 
Life  is  just  begun! 

One  — two — you  cannot  count  it 
On  your  fingers  white; 

Sum  of  all  your  earthly  being. 
Sorrow,  and  delight! 

One  — two  — my  little  maiden. 

If  the  sum  shall  grow 

Here  on  earth  or  there  in  heaven. 
Only  One  can  know! 


:>ONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


43 


SHii  (Oucctt, 


What  shall  the  New  Year  bring  you, 
Dear  little  baby  Nell  ? 

Choose  from  his  gifts  and  treasures 
Something  to  please  you  well: 

Gems  for  your  brow  so  tender, 

Rings  for  your  fingers  white. 

Robes  for  your  dainty  wearing, 

Rich  and  costly  and  bright? 

Dear  little  laughing  Nellie 
Looks  in  my  eyes  with  glee; 

Nothing  she  cares  for  jewels; 

Queen  of  my  heart  is  she! 

Nothing  she  cares  for  raiment 
Rich  and  costly  and  rare; 

Close  in  my  arms  1 fold  her. 

Kissing  her  shining  hair. 

Year  after  year  shall  bring  her 
Treasures  of  love  untold. 

And  the  bud  shall  grow  to  a blossom, 
As  the  New  Years  follow  the  Old. 


44 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


3tlarcft 

Listen,  Kitty,  my  darling! 

Here  by  the  fireside  bright; 

Do  you  know  what  the  winds  are  saying 
Abroad  in  the  gusty  night? 

Moaning  under  the  windows. 

Tossing  the  scurrying  leaves. 

Making  the  maples  shiver 

And  creak  at  the  cottage  eaves? 

Listen,  Kitty,  my  darling! 

The  winds  are  singing  a song 
Of  the  spring  that  is  softly  stealing 
From  summer  lands  along. 

The  snowdrops  smile  as  they  hear  it, 

A smile  for  the  spring’s  sweet  sake; 
And  the  shy  little  violets  whisper, 

‘‘We  hear!  we  are  broad  awake!” 

No  matter,  Kitty,  my  darling. 

Though  March  winds  drearily  blow, 

1 am  sure  that  the  daisies  are  stirring 
In  their  beds  down  under  the  snow. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST.  45 

In  spitfe  of  the  blustering  weather, 

The  crocus  is  budding  again; 

And  the  daffodils  whisper  together,  ’ 

And  wait  for  the  April  rain. 


46 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


^pril  Spools* 

Shy  little  pansies 

Tucked  away  to  sleep, 
Wrapped  in  brown  blankets 
Piled  close  and  deep, 
Heard  in  a daydream 
A bird  singing  clear: 
“Wake,  little  sweethearts! 
The  springtime  is  here!” 

Glad  little  pansies. 

Stirring  from  their  sleep. 
Shook  the  brown  blankets 
Off  for  a peep; 

Put  on  their  velvet  hoods. 
Purple  and  gold, 

And  stood  all  a-tremble. 
Abroad  in  the  cold. 

Snowflakes  were  flying. 

Skies  were  grim  and  gray, 
Bluebird  and  robin 
Had  scurried  away. 

Only  the  cruel  wind 
Laughed,  as  it  said, 

“ Poor  little  April  fools! 

Hurry  back  to  bed!” 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


47 


Soft  chins  a-quiver, 

Dark  eyes  full  of  tears  — 
Brave  little  pansies, 

Spite  of  their  fears, 

Said,  “ Let  us  wait  for 
The  sunshiny  weather; 
Take  hold  of  hands,  dears. 
And  cuddle  close  together.” 


48 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


'STftc  bluebird* 


I know  the  song  that  the  bluebird  is  singing 
Out  in  the  apple  tree  where  he  is  swinging. 
Brave  little  fellow!  the  skies  may  be  dreary; 
Nothing  cares  he  while  his  heart  is  so  cheery. 

Hark ! how  the  music  leaps  out  from  his  throat. 
Hark!  was  there  ever  so  merry  a note? 

Listen  awhile  and  you’ll  hear  what  he’s 
saying 

Up  in  the  apple  tree  swinging  and  swaying: 

“Dear  little  blossoms  down  under  the  snow. 
You  must  be  weary  of  winter,  I know; 

Hark!  while  I sing  you  a message  of  cheer: 
Summer  is  coming,  and  springtime  is  here. 

Little  white  snowdrop!  i pray  you  arise; 
Bright  yellow  crocus!  come,  open  your  eyes; 
Daffodils!  daffodils!  say,  do  you  hear? 
Summer  is  coming,  and  springtime  is  here! 


SOJVGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


49 


Oh,  Nellie,  with  your  little  feet 
Among  the  clovers  straying! 

You  watch  across  the  meadows  sweet 
The  yellow  sunshine  playing! 

Then  come  with  me  where  woods  are  green. 
And  merry  waters  glide  between. 

And  you  shall  be  my  bonny  queen. 

While  we  go  gayly  Maying. 

Oh,  Nellie,  with  your  eyes  that  see 
A world  of  summer  gladness! 

Where  all  the  songs  are  full  of  glee. 

Without  a note  of  sadness. 

Today,  with  heart  as  light  as  thine, 

1 take  thy  little  hand  in  mine. 

And  taste  again  youth’s  golden  wine 
As  we  go  gayly  Maying. 

Oh,  Nellie,  with  your  heart  that  keeps 
Its  blessed  childhood  holy. 

And  learns  from  nature  lessons  deep, 

With  rev’rence  sweet  and  lowly! 

Let  those  who  will,  be  sad  and  say 
This  life  is  but  a changeful  day; 

We’ll  treasure  every  golden  ray 
As  we  go  gayly  Maying. 


50 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Stigftt  Heart* 

When  willows  wear  their  robes  of  green, 
When  meadow-sweet  is  springing, 

When  winds  that  run  along  the  slopes 
Set  all  the  bluebells  swinging,— 

Then  to  hail  the  gladsome  weather. 
Sing  my  heart  and  I together: 

“Clouds  may  hide  the  radiant  skies. 
Yet  the  sunshine  never  dies!” 

When  woodlands  hide  their  waxen  blooms  — 
The  dearer  for  their  fleetness  — 

And  orchards  breathe  their  rare  perfumes. 

To  lade  the  air  with  sweetness, — 

Then  to  hail  the  gladsome  weather. 
Sing  my  heart  and  I together: 

“Clouds  may  hide  the  radiant  skies. 
Yet  the  sunshine  never  dies!” 

Sometimes  the  storm  is  dark  above. 
Sometimes  the  rain  is  chilling; 

And  not  a bird  in  all  the  tree 
His  merry  note  is  trilling; 

Yet  in  spite  of  dreary  weather. 

Sing  my  heart  and  I together: 

“Clouds  may  hide  the  radiant  skies, 
Yet  the  sunshine  never  dies!” 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


51 


On  the  windy  hillsides 
Daisies  whitely  blow, 

While  above  them  softly 
Shade  and  sunshine  go. 

Birds  their  young  are  brooding 
In  the  orchard  trees; 

In  the  fields  of  clover 
Hum  the  drowsy  bees. 

Through  the  tender  grasses 
Barefoot  children  run, 

Fanned  by  summer  breezes. 
Kissed  by  summer’s  sun; 

All  their  pulses  throbbing 
To  one  blissful  tune. 

All  their  days  at  dawning. 

All  their  months  are  June! 


52 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Iirfte  Btotallotos. 


The  robin  may  warble  his  merriest  tune, 

The  leaves  may  be  green  on  the  tree, 

But  the  blithe  little  swallow  will  wait  for  the 
June; 

For  the  bird  of  the  summer  is  he. 

As  swift  as  the  light  he  is  flashing  along. 

High  up  in  the  glimmering  blue; 

Then  low  at  my  feet,  where  the  blossoms  are 
sweet. 

And  the  meadows  are  sparkling  with  dew. 

Oh,  gay  little  rover!  no  shadow  of  fear. 

No  care  for  the  morrow,  have  you; 

You  pass  from  our  skies  ere  the  autumn  is 
here. 

To  the  land  where  the  summer  is  new. 

Say,  how  do  you  know  when  the  skies  are 
aglow. 

And  the  wind  blowing  soft  through  the 
leaves? 

Who  shows  you  the  way,  through  the  night 
and  the  day. 

To  your  home  by  the  sheltering  eaves? 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


53 


The  robin  may  warble  his  merriest  tune, 

The  leaves  may  be  green  on  the  tree; 

But  the  blithe  little  swallow  will  wait  for  the 
June; 

For  the  bird  of  the  summer  is  he. 


54 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


O Robin,  singing  in  the  tree, 

While  fades  the  daylight  slowly. 
Your  vesper  hymn  floats  down  to  me 
Through  twilight  shadows  holy. 

The  skies  have  caught  a beauty  new; 

A softer  light  has  touched  their  blue. 
And  evening’s  star  is  trembling  through, 
To  watch  while  earth  is  sleeping. 

0 Robin,  hush!  till  golden  rays 
Shall  light  the  radiant  -morrow, 

1 sleep  to  dream  of  happy  days. 

Without  a fear  of  sorrow. 

For  while  I sleep  my  Father  wakes; 

His  hand  my  sure  protection  makes; 

His  tender  mercy  ne’er  forsakes. 

Its  watch  above  me  keeping. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


55 


•STIxis  Sons  of  fife  Crfckefs* 


Under  the  grass,  in  the  bright  summer  weather. 

We  little  crickets  live  gayly  together; 

When  the  morn  shines,  and  the  dew  brightly 
glistens. 

All  the  night  long  you  may  hear  if  you  listen  — 

“Cheep!  cheep!  cheep!” 

We  are  the  crickets  that  sing  you  to  sleep. 

We  have  no  houses  to  store  up  our  treasure. 

Gay  little  minstrels,  we  live  but  for  pleasure; 

What  shall  we  do  when  the  summer  is  over.^^ 

When  the  keen  frost  nips  the  meadows  of 
clover? 

Cheep!  cheep!  cheep! 

Under  the  hearthstone  for  shelter  we  creep. 

Then  when  the  firelight  is  dancing  and  glow- 
ing. 

Nothing  we’ll  care  how  the  winter  is  blowing; 

Down  in  our  snug  little  cells  we  will  sing  you 

Songs  of  the  brightness  the  summer  will  bring 
you. 

Cheep!  cheep!  cheep! 

Summer  is  coming,  though  snows  may  be 
deep. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


^ 3Uomins  JSong- 


Have  you  heard  the  waters  singing, 
Little  May, 

Where  the  willows  green  are  leaning 
O’er  their  way  ? 

Do  you  know  how  low  and  sweet 

O’er  the  pebbles  at  their  feet 

Are  the  words  the  waves  repeat 
Night  and  day  ? 

Have  you  heard  the  robins  singing, 
Little  one, 

When  the  rosy  day  is  breaking  — 
When ’tis  done  ? 

Have  you  heard  the  wooing  breeze 

In  the  blossomed  orchard  trees. 

And  the  drowsy  hum  of  bees 
In  the  sun  ? 

All  the  earth  is  full  of  music. 

Little  May! 

Bird  and  bee  and  water  singing 
On  its  way. 

Let  their  silver  voices  fall 

On  thy  heart  with  happy  call, — 

“Praise  the  Lord!  who  loveth  all, 
Night  and  day.” 


SOiVGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


57 


<Tftc  ^ruc  Princess. 


Sweetheart,  in  those  dear  days 

When  you  were  smaller, 

Your  white  brow  just  a lily’s  height, — 

No  taller, — 

Soon  as,  at  dusk,  the  stars  began  to  peep. 
Into  my  arms  my  little  maid  would  creep, 
Pleading  for  stories  ere  she  went  to  sleep. 

There  was  one  story,  dear, — 

Do  you  remember?  — 

You  chose  from  blossom-time 
To  dull  November: 

About  the  Princess  wandering  in  the  wood. 
And  how  beside  the  witch’s  door  she  stood. 
Her  elf-locks  straggling  from  her  tattered  hood. 

The  witch,  you  know,  dear  girl, 

Was  true  and  loyal; 

Ready  to  help  the  Princess  if  she  proved 
Right  royal. 

So  when  her  flesh,  through  the  deep  downy 
bed, 

Felt  the  small  pea,  and  ached  from  toe  to  head, 
“She’s  the  blue  blood,”  the  wise  old  woman 
said. 


58 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Sweetheart,  in  those  old  days 
We  hated  preaching, 

And  never  spoiled  our  pretty  fairy  tales 
With  teaching; 

But  now  that  you  have  grown  so  tall  and  wise, 
I think  the  fable  to  your  steadfast  eyes 
Might  seem  a lesson  in  a quaint  disguise. 

For  the  true  Princess  still. 

Though  clothed  but  meanly. 

By  her  quick  sense  and  tender  heart 
Proves  queenly. 

She  feels  the  trouble  that  she  cannot  see. 
Dear,  if  the  wise  old  woman  chanced  to  be 
Walking  this  way,  would  she  know  you  and 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


59 


J3impU* 

Little  Dame  Dimple,  so  merry  and  wise, 
Shaking  your  tangled  locks  over  your  eyes, 
What  are  you  plotting  this  sunshiny  day, 
Under  the  apple  tree  over  the  way? 

All  the  birds  know  you,  you  queer  little  elf. 
Sometimes  I think  you’re  a birdie  yourself. 
Chasing  the  honeybees  home  as  they  pass. 
Watching  the  crickets  that  chirp  in  the  grass. 

Where  is  your  sunbonnet  dainty  and  neat? 
Where  are  the  shoes  for  your  bare  little  feet? 
Little  brown  fingers  that  hid  them  so  well. 
What  will  you  do  if  your  secret  1 tell? 

One  chubby  hand  holds  the  frock  at  your  knee 
Filled  full  of  treasures  most  wondrous  to  see: 
Beetles  that  crawled  in  the  dust  at  your  feet. 
Grasshoppers,  pebbles,  and  clover -heads 
sweet. 

See!  there’s  a butterfly  gleaming  like  gold! 
Down  goes  the  frock  with  its  riches  untold! 
Dear  little  Dimple,  we  older  folks,  too. 

Drop  our  old  treasures  to  reach  for  the  new. 


6o 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


onfticks. 

One,  two,  three  little  chickens! 

Brown  and  yellow  and  white. 

Bobbing  about  in  this  restless  fashion, 

Out  of  the  nest  tonight. 

Three,  four  — if  you  don’t  keep  quiet, 

How  can  I count  you  right.^^ 

One,  two  — stop  till  1 count  you. 

Dear  little  downy  things. 

Cuddling  away  from  every  danger, 

Under  the  mother’s  wings! 

“Wee!  wee!”  When  the  baby’s  sleepy 
That  is  the  song  he  sings. 

One,  two  — say,  can  you  count  them. 
Stupid  old  mother  hen? 

How  do  you  know  that  under  your  feathers 
Nestle  your  babies  ten? 

What  if  the  cat  comes  slyly  creeping? 

How  will  you  hide  them  then? 

Ah  me!  ten  little  chickens. 

Beautiful,  downy  balls! 

Wait,  little  chicks,  and  don’t  be  growing 
Big,  and  bony,  and  tall. 

Stay  where  the  mother’s  wing  can  shelter. 
Brooding  over  you  all. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


6i 


ill  tfxe  (Sarrot. 

Through  the  windows  dim  and  dusty 
Shines  the  sun, 

When  the  rosy  day  is  breaking, 

When  ’tis  done; 

And  the  cobwebs  from  the  roof. 

Hanging  low  their  fairy  woof. 

Wave  like  banners  in  the  glory,  every  one. 

As  1 sit  and  idly  listen 
By  the  door. 

Faintest  footfalls  seem  to  patter 
On  the  floor; 

And  the  i afters  overhead 

Echo  back  the  merry  tread 
Of  the  children  who  have  left  us  evermore. 

From  the  cradle,  waiting  empty 
By  the  eaves, 

Once  again  the  blue-eyed  baby 
Smiles  and  grieves. 

And  the  mother’s  lips  repeat 

Tender  rhymes  to  music  sweet, 

Like  tlye  song  the  wind  is  singing  to  the  leaves. 


62 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


liTItc  OuftilOrcn^s  pi^atjers* 

When  along  the  quiet  valley 
Morning  sunbeams  creep, 

And  the  merry  children  waken 
From  their  rosy  sleep, 

With  their  eager  faces  shining 
In  the  golden  ray, 

And  their  restless  fingers  folded. 

Hear  them  sweetly  say  : 

“ Father  dear!  through  all  the  day 
Kindly  watch  about  our  way. 

Lest  our  careless  feet  should  stray. 
All  thy  love  forgetting.” 

When  along  the  quiet  valley 
Slowly  fades  the  day. 

And  the  little  children  gather 
Weary  from  their  play. 

Tender  grow  their  happy  faces. 

Hushed  their  laughing  glee. 

While  their  voices  softly  murmur 
By  the  mother’s  knee: 

“Father  dear!  till  morning  light 
Keep  us,  guard  us  through  the  night; 
To  thy  kingdom  pure  and  bright. 

In  thy  mercy  lead  us!  ” 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


63 


Ah,  the  blessed  little  children! 

Day  and  night  we  know 
Holy  angels  watch  around  them 
All  the  way  they  go; 

And  the  Father,  never  weary 
Of  their  songs  of  praise, 

From  the  glory  smiles  to  listen 
To  the  prayers  they  raise. 

“Father  dear!  through  every  snare 
Make  the  tender  lambs  thy  care; 

In  thy  bosom  gently  bear, 

Lest  the  foe  should  find  them.’’ 


64 


SONGS  FROM  THE  MEET. 


2^cct  in  tlic 

Oh,  children  with  beautiful  faces 

Untouched  by  the  breath  of  the  storm, 

1 hear  the  glad  ring  of  your  voices. 

At  play  where  the  firelight  is  warm! 

I think,  as  I sit  in  the  gloaming, 

And  hear  how  the  chilly  winds  blow, 
Of  poor  little  heads  in  the  tempest. 

And  little  bare  feet  in  the  snow! 

Oh,  children  so  tenderly  sheltered. 

So  blest  in  your  waking  and  sleep, 

1 think  of  the  wan  Httle  faces 

That  sorrowful  vigils  must  keep; 

Unfed  in  their  pitiful  hunger, 

Unsoothed  in  their  terror  and  woe  — 
Oh,  weak  little  hearts  in  the  darkness! 
And  little  bare  feet  in  the  snow! 

Oh,  once  by  the  angels  celestial 
The  wonderful  story  was  told. 

How  Jesus,  the  Shepherd,  came  seeking 
The  lambs  that  were  lost  from  His  fold-. 
And  they  who  would  share  in  His  glory. 
Must  follow  His  footsteps  below. 

To  comfort  the  poor  and  the  needy  — 

The  little  bare  feet  in  the  snow! 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


65 


llunaujotj  |Jriticcss. 

When,  on  all  the  wood-paths  brown, 

Red  and  gold  the  leaves  dropped  down. 
Through  the  warm,  sweet  sunshine  straying. 
To  my  ear  the  wind  came,  saying: 

“Hearken!  can  you  understand 
What’s  amiss  in  Fairyland?” 

Ding,  dong!  the  bells  are  swinging. 

Here  is  the  town-crier  ringing! 

“Lost!  lost!”  you  hear  him  say  — 

“Stolen  or  strayed  away! 

Strayed  away  from  Buttercup  town. 

The  fair  little  Princess  Thistledown!” 

All  the  Court  had  gone  to  dine, — 

Knights  and  lords  and  ladies  fine. 

Through  the  open  gateway  straying. 

Came  a troop  of  minstrels  playing. 

One  was  a fiddler,  shriveled  and  black; 

One  had  a banjo  over  his  back; 

One  was  a piper,  and  one  did  naught 
But  dance  to  the  tune,*as  a dancer  ought. 

First,  the  fiddler  drew  his  bow. 

Struck  a chord  so  sweet  and  low. 

Lords  and  ladies  held  their  breath 
In  a silence  deep  as  death. 


66 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Ding-a*ting!  the  banjo  rang; 

Up  the  lords  and  ladies  sprang, 

Round  about  the  piper  pressed  — 

“ Ho,  good  piper,  pipe  your  best!  ” 

And  they  danced  to  the  sound 
In  a merry  go-round. 

For  never  before  had  a minstrel  band 
Chanced  to  stray  into  Fairyland. 

They  filled  their  pockets  with  silver  money; 
They  fed  them  on  barley  cakes  and  honey; 
But  when  they  were  fairly  out  of  the  town. 
They  missed  little  Princess  Thistledown. 

“Call  the  crier!  ring  the  bells! 

Search  through  all  the  forest  dells; 

Here  is  silver,  here  is  gold. 

Here  are  precious  gems  untold; 

He  who  finds  the  child  may  take 
Half  the  kingdom  for  her  sake!  ” 

Bim!  boom!  comes  a blustering  fellow, 
Dressed  in  black  velvet  slashed  with  yellow; 
He’s  the  king’s  trumpeter,  out  on  the  track 
Of  the  wandering  minstrels,  to  bring  them 
back. 

But  the  fiddler  is  telling  his  beads  by  the  fire. 
In  a cap  and  a gown,  like  a grizzly  old  friar. 
The  man  with  a banjo  is  deaf  as  a post. 

The  jolly  old  piper  as  thin  as  a ghost. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


6.7 


And  the  dancer  is  changed,  by  some  magical 
touch, 

To  a one-legged  beggar  that  limps  on  his 
crutch. 

Then  Mistress  Gentian  bent  to  look 
At  her  own  sweet  image  in  the  brook. 

And  whispered,  “Nobody  knows  it,  dear. 

But  1 have  the  darling  safely  here.” 

And,  dropping  her  fringes  low,  she  said: 

“ 1 was  tucking  my  babies  into  bed. 

When  the  poor  little  princess  chanced  to  pass, 
Sobbing  among  the  tangled  grass; 

Her  silver  mantle  was  ruffled  and  torn. 

Her  golden  slippers  were  dusty  and  worn. 
The  bats  had  frightened  her  half  to  death. 
The  spiders  chased  her  quite  out  of  breath. 

1 fed  her  with  honey,  1 washed  her  with  dew, 
1 rocked  her  to  sleep  in  my  cradle  of  blue; 
And  1 could  tell,  if  1 chose  to  say. 

Who  it  was  coaxed  her  to  run  away.” 

The  mischievous  Wind  the  cradle  swung. 
“Sleep,  little  lady,  sleep!”  he  sung; 

“What  would  they  say  if  they  only  knew 
It  was  1 who  ran  away  with  you  ? ” 


68 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


#16  an6  tftc 

Two  bright  heads  in  the  corner, 

Deep  in  the  easy-chair; 

One  with  a crown  of  yellow  gold, 

And  one  like  the  silver  fair; 

One  with  the  morning’s  rosy  flush. 

And  one  with  the  twilight’s  tender  hush. 

“ Where  do  the  New  Years  come  from?  ” 
Asks  Goldilocks  in  her  glee; 

“Do  they  sail  in  a pearly  shallop 
Across  a wonderful  sea  — 

A sea  whose  waters,  with  rainbows  spanned. 
Touch  all  the  borders  of  fairyland? 

“ Do  all  the  birds  in  that  country 
Keep  singing  by  night  and  day? 

Singing  among  the  blossoms 
That  never  wither  away? 

Will  they  let  you  feel,  as  you  hold  them  near. 
Their  warm  hearts  beating,  but  not  with  fear? 

“And  the  happy  little  children! 

Do  they  wander  as  they  will. 

To  gather  the  sweet  wild  roses. 

And  the  strawberries  on  the  hill. 

With  wings  like  butterflies  all  afloat. 

And  a purple  cloud  for  a fairy  boat? 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


69 


“There  surely  is  such  a country; 

I’ve  seen  it  many  a night, 

Though  1 never,  never  could  find  it, 

Awake  in  the  morning  light; 

And  that  is  the  country  over  the  sea, 

Where  the  beautiful  New  Years  wait  for  me.” 

“ Where  do  the  New  Years  come  from  ? ” 
Says  grandpa,  looking  away 
Through  the  frosty  rime  on  the  window. 

To  the  distant  hills  so  gray; 

“They  come  from  the  country  of  youth,  I know. 
And  they  pass  to  the  land  of  the  long  ago. 

“And  which  is  the  fairest  country, 

Dear  heart,  I never  could  tell; 

Where  the  New  Years  wait  their  dawning. 
Or  the  beautiful  Old  Years  dwell; 

But  the  sweetest  summers  that  ever  shone. 
To  the  land  of  the  long  ago  have  flown. 

“The  New  Years  wait  for  you,  darling. 

And  the  Old  Years  wait  for  me; 

They  have  carried  my  dearest  treasures 
To  the  country  over  the  sea  — 

The  eyes  that  were  brightest,  the  lips  that 
sung 

The  gladdest  carols  when  life  was  young. 


70 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


“ But  1 know  of  a better  country, 

Where  the  Old  Years  all  are  new; 

I shall  find  its  shining  pathway 
Sooner,  sweetheart,  than  you; 

And  ril  send  you  a message  of  love  and  cheer 
With  every  dawn  of  a glad  New  Year.” 

The  eyes  of  the  dear  old  pilgrim 
Are  looking  across  the  snows, 

While  closer  nestles  the  merry  face, 

With  its  flush  like  a pink  wild  rose; 
Dreaming  together,  the  young  and  old. 

Locks  of  silver  and  crown  of  gold. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST 


/'I 


Sweetheart^ s Stories^ 

“Come  tell  me  a story,  Sweetheart! 

I’ve  told  you  a thousand  and  one; 

My  brain  has  grown  tired  of  weaving, 

And  all  my  fancies  are  spun. 

“You  must  have  a store  of  ditties. 

And  tales  of  mountain  and  sea. 

You’ve  heard  them  over  and  over; 

Now  tell  them  again  to  me.” 

Then  Sweetheart  laughs,  with  a music 
As  merry  as  chiming  bells; 

Her  blue  eyes  dance  in  the  firelight. 

And  these  are  the  stories  she  tells: 

“Well  — once  on  a time  — a fairy 
With  wings  like  a rainbow,  flew 
Right  into  a little  girl’s  window; 

Now  you  tell:  what  did  she  do?  ^ 

“ And  once,  when  the  moon  was  shining, — 
A wee  little  moon  in  the  west, — 

A little  girl  looked  in  the  sky,  and  saw— 
And  saw — you  tell  me  the  rest. 

“And  once  — there  were  awful  rivers. 

And  woods,  and  mountains,  you  know; 
And  two  little  girls  went  a- walking  — 

You  tel  1 me : where  did  they  go?''"' 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Then  sweetheart  sighs  as  she  nestles 
Her  dear  yellow  head  on  my  breast: 

“ Little  girls  only  know  the  beginnings; 
But  mammas,  they  know  all  the  rest.” 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


73 


^ iTauigl^  in  (Elltnrcfi* 

She  sat  on  the  sliding  cushion, 

The  dear  wee  woman  of  four; 

Her  feet  in  their  shiny  slippers 
Hung  dangling  above  the  floor. 

She  meant  to  be  good;  she  had  promised; 

And  so,  with  her  big  brown  eyes, 

She  stared  at  the  meeting-house  windows, 
And  counted  the  crawling  flies. 

She  looked  far  up  at  the  preacher; 

But  she  thought  of  the  honeybees 
Droning  away  in  the  blossoms 
That  whitened  the  cherry  trees. 

She  thought  of  the  broken  basket. 

Where,  curled  in  a dusky  heap. 

Three  sleek,  round  puppies,  with  fringy  ears,. 
Lay  snuggled  and  fast  asleep; 

Such  soft,  warm  bodies  to  cuddle, 

Such  queer  little  hearts  to  beat. 

Such  swift,  red  tongues  to  kiss  you, 

Such  sprawling,  cushiony  feet! 

She  could  feel  in  her  clasping  fingers 
The  touch  of  the  satiny  skin. 

And  a cold,  wet  nose  exploring 
The  dimples  under  her  chin. 


74 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Then  a sudden  ripple  of  laughter 
Ran  over  ner  parted  lips, 

So  swift  that  she  could  not  catch  it 
With  her  rosy  finger  tips. 

The  people  whispered:  “Bless  the  child!” 
As  each  one  waked  from  a nap; 

But  the  dear  wee  woman  hid  her  face 
For  shame,  in  her  mother’s  lap. 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


75 


CiOntcnt* 


Three  little  children  at  play  in  the  meadow, 
Merry  as  heart  can  be; 

Watching  the  shadows  floating  over, 
Chasing  the  honeybee; 

Sucking  the  drops  of  nectar  hidden 
Deep  in  the  clover  cell, 

Blowing  the  seeds  of  the  downy  thistle. 
Guessing  the  daisies’  spell. 

Close  by  the  door,  the  patient  mother 
Toileth  the  whole  day  long. 

Smiling  to  see  the  children’s  frolic. 
Thanking  the  Lord  in  song. 

She  has  no  share  in  the  lordly  acres 
Stretching  away  from  her  door; 

Shelter  and  food  the  Father  sends  her. 

Why  should  she  sigh  for  more? 


76 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Autumn- 

The  bees  in  the  meadow  are  merrily  humming. 
The  crickets  chirp  shrill  on  the  lea; 

The  woodpecker  down  in  the  pasture  is  drum- 
ming 

A tune  on  the  old  beech  tree; 

I’ll  tell  you  a tale  of  the  days  that  are  coming;^ 
The  swallows  have  told  it  to  me. 

O bonny  green  trees!  you  are  talking  together 
As  if  you  could  never  grow  old; 

You  whisper  and  laugh  in  the  sunshiny  weath- 
er, 

And  all  your  green  garlands  unfold; 

Do  you  know  there’s  a king  coming  over  the 
heather 

To  deck  you  in  crimson  and  gold? 

O birds  in  the  branches  so  merrily  swaying, 
You  sing  your  glad  songs  in  the  sun; 

Do  you  hear  what  the  wise  little  swallows 
are  saying? 

“ The  beaittiful summer  is  done! 

A way  while  the  blustering  winds  are  delay- 
ing; 

’ Tis  time  that  our  flight  was  begun." 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


77 


O blithe  little  swallows,  the  meadows  of  clo- 
ver 

Will  blossom  again  for  the  bee; 

You’ll  skim  their  green  billows  like  gulls 
flitting  over 

The  white-crested  caps  pf  the  sea; 

For  summer  will  bring  back  each  gay  little 
rover 

Again  to  the  meadows  and  me. 


78 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST, 


My  little  maid,  they  say, 

Is  twelve  years  old  today; 

And  so  I send  her 
A birthday  rhyme  to  tell 
I love  her  dearly  well. 

With  thoughts  most  tender, 

I love  her  eyes  so  blue. 

Her  bonny  brow  so  true, 

Her  smile  so  sunny. 

Her  dimples,  soft  and  deep,  - 
Her  lips  that  kisses  keep 
Sweeter  than  honey. 

My  little  maid  today, 

If  I could  have  my  way 
Like  Julius  Ccesar, 

Should  choose  from  east  or  west, 
Whatever  she  liked  best, 

A gift  to  please  her. 

Would  she  have  gowns  of  silk. 
Or  laces  white  as  milk? 

Straight  I would  bring  them. 
Would  she  have  jewels  rare 
To  bind  her  yellow  hair? 

My  hands  should  string  them. 


SOJVGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Or,  maybe,  she  and  I 
To  fairyland  would  fly. 
Where  gold  is  plenty. 

And  some  small  elfin  voice 
Would  bid  us  take  our  choice 
Of  wishes  twenty. 

But  were  my  little  maid 
In  silks  and  gems  arrayed. 

It  might  so  change  her. 
She  would  no  longer  be 
A little  lass  to  me. 

But  some  proud  stranger. 

And  so,  perhaps,  ’tis  best 
That  Ccesar  and  the  rest 
Who  ruled  so  many. 
Wherever  they  may  be. 

Have  never  left  to  me 
A single  penny. 

And  though  I oft  have  tried, 

I never  yet  have  spied 
An  elf  or  fairy. 

Or  anyone  who  knew 
Exactly  what  to  do 
With  folks  so  airy. 


8o  SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 

So  I can  only  send 
Good  wishes  without  end, 
Love  without  measure. 
God  teach  my  little  Grace, 

In  every  time  and  place. 

To  do  His  pleasure! 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


8i 


3Jlij 

Slowly  the  night  is  falling, 

Falling  down  from  the  hill; 

And  all  in  the  low  green  valley 
The  dew  lies  heavy  and  chill. 

The  crickets  cry  in  the  hedges, 

And  the  bats  are  circling  low; 

And  like  ghosts  in  the  blossoming  garden, 
The  glimmering  night  moths  go. 

Hand  in  hand,  through  the  twilight. 

Come  the  children  every  one. 

Flushed  with  their  eager  frolic. 

Tawny  with  wind  and  sun; 

Home  from  the  sunny  uplands 

Where  the  sweet  wild  berries  grow, 

Home  from  the  tangled  thickets 
Where  the  nuts  are  ripening  slow. 

They  mock  at  the  wind’s  low  sighing, 

And  the  cricket’s  lonesome  cry; 

At  the  tardy  swallows  flying 

Late  through  the  darkening  sky. 

And  silently  gliding  after. 

Through  the  dusk  of  the  shadowy  street. 

Comes  their  little  angel  sister. 

Star-white  from  her  head  to  her  feet. 


82 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


Never  crossing  the  threshold, 

Come  they  early  or  late, 

With  her  empty  hands  on  her  bosom. 
She  stops  at  the  cottage  gate. 

I stretch  out  my  arms  in  longing. 

But  she  fades  from  my  aching  sight. 
As  a little  white  cloud  at  morning 
Vanishes  into  the  light. 

And  spite  of  the  shining  garments 
Folded  about  her  now. 

And  spite  of  the  deathless  beauty 
Crowning  her  lip  and  brow, 

I wish,  for  one  passionate  moment. 

She  sat  on  my  knee  again. 

On  her  feet,  so  spotless  and  tender. 

The  dust  and  the  earthly  stain. 

For  missing  her  morning  and  evening. 
The  bitterest  thought  must  be, 

That,  safe  with  her  blessed  kindred. 
The  child  hath  no  need  of  me. 

And  counting  her  heavenly  birthdays, 

I say,  in  my  jealous  care : 

“The  babe  that  lay  in  my  bosom 
Hath  grown  to  a maiden  fair. 

“And  now,  if  out  of  the  glory 

Her  face,  like  a star,  should  shine. 
Could  I guess  the  beautiful  changeling 
Had  ever  on  earth  been  mine?” 


SOJVGS  FROM  THE  NEST 


83 


I should  veil  my  eyes  at  her  splendor, 
But  never  forget  my  lack 
For  the  clinging  hands  of  my  baby, 

And  the  mouth  that  kissed  me  back. 

Yet  though,  in  my  human  blindness, 

1 cannot  fathom  His  way 
Who  counts,  in  His  glorious  cycles, 

A thousand  years  as  a day. 
Whenever  the  cloud  is  lifted. 

Whenever  I cross  the  tide, 

Mine  own  He  will  surely  give  me, 

And  I shall  be  satisfied. 


84 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


3rlor 

Behind  them  slowly  sank  the  western  world, 

Before  them  new  horizons  opened  wide; 

“Yonder,”  he  said,  “old  Rome  and  Venice 
wait. 

And  lovely  Florence  by  the  Arno’s  tide.” 

She  heard,  but  backward  all  her  heart  had 
sped, 

.Where  the  young  moon  sailed  through  the 
sunset  red; 

'' Yonder, she  thought,  ''with  breathing  soft 
and  deep, 

My  little  lad  lies  smiling^  m his  sleep." 

They  sailed  where  Capri  dreamed  upon  the 
sea, 

And  Naples  slept  beneath  her  olive  trees; 

They  saw  the  plains  where  trod  the  gods  of 
old. 

Pink  with  the  flush  of  wild  anemones. 

They  saw  the  marbles  by  the  master  wrought 

To  shrine  the  heavenly  beauty  of  his  thought. 

Still  rang  one  longing  through  her  smiles  and 
sighs: 

" If  1 could  see  my  little  lad's  sweet  eyes!" 


SONGS  FROM  THE  NEST. 


85 


Down  from  her  shrine  the  dear  Madonna 
gazed, 

Her  baby  lying  warm  against  her  breast. 

"‘What  does  she  see?”  he  whispered;  “can 
she  guess 

The  cruel  thorns  to  those  soft  temples 
pressed  ? ” 

“Ah,  no,”  she  said;  “she  shuts  him  safe 
from  harms. 

Within  the  love-locked  harbor  of  her  arms. 

No  fear  of  coming  fate  could  make  7ue  sad, 

If  so,  tonight,  I held  my  little  lad  I 

“if  you  could  choose,”  he  said,  “a  royal 
boon. 

Like  that  girl  dancing  yonder  for  the  king. 

What  gift  from  all  her  kingdom  would  you 
bid 

Obedient  Fortune  in  her  hand  to  bring?” 

The  dancer’s  robe,  the  glittering  banquet  hall 

Swam  in  a mist  of  tears  along  the  wall. 

''Not  power f she  said,  "nor  riches  nor  de- 
light, 

But  just  to  kiss  7ny  little  lad  t07iight!" 


i : 


